Hundreds of heavily armed Northern cavalry, their armor and the scales covering their mounts gleaming in the sun, slowly formed a wedge formation, followed by over a thousand heavily armored elite cavalry.
"Charge!"
Upon nearing the enemy, Jon Umber roared, lowered his long spear, which was tied with the Running Wolf Flag, and spurred his warhorse to maximum speed, charging as the tip of the formation into the chaotic Lannister soldiers.
There was no need to aim; the enemies, with expressions of fanaticism, confusion, apprehension, and fear, would automatically run into them, then be sent flying by hooves, impaled by spears, or have their throats slit by the longswords drawn by the cavalry after abandoning their spears, or their heads smashed by shields.
Facing these ragtag troops with inconsistent weaponry and equipment, Jon Umber led his heavy cavalry directly through them, and in a few hundred meters, they would charge into the hedgehog formation of spears hastily set up by Ser Kevan.
"Loose arrows!"
With an officer's shout, the Western archers drew their bowstrings, unleashing a volley of arrows. In an instant, thousands of arrows flew into the sky, a dark mass like hail.
Before the arrows even landed, the archers had already notched their second arrows.
"Slow down!"
After breaking through the enemy, Jon Umber immediately ordered the cavalry to reduce speed.
"Turn!"
The thousand cavalry executed a magnificent semi-circular turn in front of the arrow rain, once again charging towards the already collapsing ragtag troops. After trampling them, they engaged Gregor Clegane's cavalry unit.
Robb's mission for Jon Umber was to shatter the Lannister army's first formation.
The rest was none of his concern.
Gregor Clegane, leading his henchmen and a thousand ragtag cavalry gathered around him, charged towards the forest on the right. With one charge, he clashed with the endless stream of Northern light cavalry pouring out of the forest.
"Kill them!"
He wasn't foolish enough to try and intercept the enemy's most elite heavy cavalry with a bunch of useless men.
Doing so would only result in needless deaths.
It was enough to use those farmers as targets to attract attention.
What he had to do was kill, kill more people!
Volleys of arrows flew from the eastern wasteland. Hundreds of Northern mounted archers, arrayed in a long single-file formation, drew their bowstrings, mercilessly shooting down the enemies fleeing towards them.
A low, gentle slope was, within minutes, covered in arrows and bodies similarly impaled with arrow shafts.
Suddenly, the ground began to tremble, and a golden-red torrent surged forward; it was Ser Adam, leading two thousand elite cavalry, who had arrived.
He immediately understood Lord Tywin's intent in the current situation.
Eliminate or drive away these mounted archers, then gather the routed troops on this gentle slope, making them continue to tie down a portion of the enemy, and after serving as bait, expend their last bit of usefulness.
He, meanwhile, would seize the opportunity to lead his cavalry and eliminate as much of the enemy's effective strength as possible.
To buy more time for Ser Kevan's infantry.
"Attack!"
He roared, pointing his long spear at the archers.
"Retreat!"
Earl Glover, who was in charge of commanding the archers, let out a roar as soon as he saw the cavalry approaching from afar. He mounted his horse first and galloped towards the high slope to the southwest without looking back. The other archers followed suit.
They mounted and fled.
"Pat, take a hundred men to rally the routed troops!"
Ser Adam roared, his words scattering in the wind. He himself had already galloped far ahead, biting at the heels of the mounted archers. His shield blocked two incoming arrows, and he spurred his horse forward, raising his spear to stab an enemy to death.
His attendant, following his orders, stayed behind with his men, galloping around and shouting for the routed troops to gather.
At this moment, Ser Kevan's hedgehog formation was also fully deployed, to the booming sound of drums.
Several massive formations, taking small, precise steps, began to slowly move forward, attempting to compress the Northern cavalry's range of movement.
A distance of a few hundred meters was nothing for these well-trained soldiers.
The other thousand elite cavalry also began to move slowly, heading towards the battlefield at the edge of the forest.
Since there were enemies both in front and behind, Lord Tywin prepared to use his strongest forces to repel these enemies who were tying him down.
Then, he would make further plans based on the situation.
Being ambushed did not mean entering a death trap. His previous arrangements had also proven effective.
That little cub from Stark could only command cavalry to launch surprise attacks on those ragtag troops, but he couldn't threaten his elite forces!
By this time, Gregor Clegane, leading the ragtag cavalry, was covered in blood. He didn't know how many people had died by his sword, only that his subordinates were dwindling.
A long spear thrust towards him. Gregor blocked it with his shield, then with one hand, he raised his greatsword and delivered a diagonal slash, splitting the enemy's leather armor and body diagonally in half, blood spurting onto his armor.
Another Northern cavalryman charged forward, thrusting his spear into the neck of "the Mountain's" mount.
This large horse, as ill-tempered as "the Mountain," neighed and reared up, kicking its front hooves at a nearby warhorse and wildly crashing towards the forest.
Gregor Clegane, uninjured after falling from his horse, stood up. He first killed an enemy who had also fallen from his horse with a single sword stroke, then stared at a Northern cavalryman whose chest bore the sun-and-spear sigil, revealing a ferocious grin.
At this moment, Eddard, riding his warhorse and holding his long spear, charged towards the dismounted Gregor Clegane with his attendants.
With such a rare opportunity, he intended to kill this man and use his body, which was half again as large as others, to help the North, the Riverlands, and himself gain the friendship of Martell.
It was well known that...
Meanwhile, the Mountain's henchmen also galloped over.
Abel thrust his long spear forward, killing the first man who rushed over. There was an emblem on the enemy's breastplate, but he didn't recognize it.
Martin and Matthew, the two brothers, raised their battle-axe and longsword, first killing a man with sandy, disheveled hair, then stabbing an enemy with salt-and-pepper hair and beard to death.
During the engagement, Martin was hit by a longsword and fell to the ground, with a gruesome wound on his neck, from which bright red blood sprayed out.
The short, stout Paine first used his morning star to smash the head of a man with a face full of pimples, then had his mail armor caught by a hooked spear, flipping him off his horse, and then smashed the head of the enemy who had dragged him down.
The old but vigorous McKenn, wielding his battle-axe, cleanly killed a man wearing a horned helmet.
The taciturn Doren ran at the rear, seizing an opportunity to stab a man to death with his long spear, then continued to slow down, circling the edge of the battlefield.
Eddard stared intently at the Mountain, who was getting closer and closer. The figure, over two meters tall, stood unmoving, holding a large shield and a two-handed sword, ready for battle, an aura of killing intent washing over him.
Amidst the rapid hoofbeats, the blade of Eddard's raised spear, which had been shimmering silver, suddenly glowed with a dazzling array of colors.
The mixture of various colored lights made an expression of disbelief appear in Gregor Clegane's eyes.
He shook his head, suspecting he had drunk too much of some drugged flower-milk and was now hallucinating.
His movements, due to his confusion, inevitably slowed by a few points.
The shield had just been raised when the spear tip, flashing with rainbow colors, slipped past it, piercing his chest from the side, through a layer of plate armor, two layers of mail, and a layer of boiled leather armor.
Steel and leather melted like tofu, and flesh and bone were even less able to resist.
Eddard's thrust directly plunged the long spear into "the Mountain's" lung, then he raised his shield, and with a "thud," blocked the giant's furious attack after being wounded.
That immensely powerful two-handed greatsword first shattered a layer of resilient magical force field, then heavily struck the shield bearing the sun-and-spear sigil.
Eddard felt as if he had been struck by a heavy hammer. His armored body flew directly off his horse and landed on the grass.
Though his entire body ached immensely and his backside felt like it was on fire, Eddard still quickly stood up, casually discarded his largely ruined shield, and then drew his battle-axe.
With his feet on the soft grass, he charged towards Gregor Clegane, who had a long spear embedded in his chest.
Upon nearing him, he first dodged a powerful downward slash from the two-handed greatsword, then slipped behind his opponent, and immediately brought his axe down heavily on the opponent's lower leg.
A thin layer of chainmail could not stop the battle-axe.
With a crunch, the lower leg bone snapped. "The Mountain" grunted, knelt on one knee, then gripped his sword with both hands and swept it behind him.
Eddard heard the enemy's breathing, like a bellows, and knew that the enemy was at the end of his rope. He gripped his battle-axe with both hands and held it in front of him.
Gregor Clegane's attack was blocked, and then Eddard pushed with force, causing the two-meter-tall, strong body to fall to both knees.
After his lung was pierced by the spear, he would have difficulty breathing and would be unable to take in enough oxygen.
Gregor no longer even had the strength to hold his sword with one hand.
Eddard took a few steps to stand behind the Mountain, raising his battle-axe high with both hands.
In the sunlight, the axe blade once again shimmered with dazzling rainbow colors. With a powerful downward chop, the steel armor protecting the neck was split in two, and Gregor's head rolled to the ground.
"Hoo."
Eddard let out a soft breath, reaching out to grasp the head, which was much larger than an ordinary person's.
He was just harder to kill than most!
Whoosh~ whoosh whoosh~ whoosh
The retreat horn sounded at this moment.
Abel led Eddard's warhorse, which had just galloped away, back to him.
Matthew carried his fallen brother's body.
McKenn and Paine, following Eddard's orders, together moved the remaining parts of the Mountain onto a riderless horse.
Konn and Doren swung their long spears, stopping two or three enemies who tried to charge through, then worked together with the others to kill them.
The horn continued to sound. Eddard, with his attendants, left the battlefield, which was covered in corpses.
Robb Stark had never intended to fight Tywin to the death. He had less than eight thousand cavalry, a thousand of whom had just returned from Lannisport and were resting at Golden Tooth.
Six thousand cavalry could launch a sneak attack, but they couldn't face Tywin's twenty thousand strong army head-on.
He still had that much common sense.
Lord Tywin, watching the Northern cavalry retreat, also ordered his men to sound the retreat horn.
The enemy's cavalry far outnumbered his own. If he pursued them recklessly, and his cavalry became separated from his infantry, they could easily be cut off and annihilated!
At that point, with only infantry remaining, he would truly be left with no way out.
Moreover, Golden Tooth must have already fallen into enemy hands. If he pursued them relentlessly, the only outcome would be a siege.
With twenty thousand men chasing him from behind, he couldn't attack a single thing.
"My Lord, I fought poorly. Please mete out my punishment."
Ser Adam returned on horseback, looking disheveled. He dismounted and immediately knelt, offering his longsword with both hands to Lord Tywin, begging for punishment.
He had led nearly two thousand elite cavalry in pursuit of those mounted archers. After killing twenty or thirty of them, he was led into a valley below a hillside.
Subsequently, over a dozen pre-loaded ballistas launched an attack on them.
Three rounds of shooting killed dozens of Lannister elite cavalry.
Just as Ser Adam realized he had fallen into a trap, over a thousand Northern cavalry, guided by the black-and-sun-and-spear sigil, emerged from the mountain pass and immediately launched an attack without a word.
Ser Adam decisively ordered his cavalry to endure the ballista attacks and form up to charge at the enemy.
If they were to turn and retreat at that moment, they would suffer a flanking impact from the enemy, which would be no different from seeking death.
Then, they were taught a lesson by horse traps during their charge.
The seemingly perfectly flat grassland had long been dug with countless pits, about two feet long, half a foot wide, and a foot deep, in specific areas. These were covered by weeds and were completely invisible on such a wasteland.
If a galloping horse stepped into one, it would lose its balance, break a leg, and fall to the ground, tripping more cavalry coming from behind.
Just crossing a short distance of about three hundred meters, Ser Adam had already lost more than a quarter of his cavalry.
The ballistas on the high slope had also been firing continuously, without stopping for even a moment.
The powerful crossbow bolts, upon hitting a cavalryman, could even pin both the man and his horse to the ground.
The speed of both sides' charge was extremely fast. The golden-red torrent gradually began to collide with the grey-white torrent, then merged, yet remained distinct, quickly passing through each other and appearing on the other side.
Cavalry charges were fast and brutal.
As both sides galloped past each other, spears struck breastplates, and battle-axes shattered shields. In an instant, countless men fell from their horses.
There were those wearing golden-red armor, and those bearing the Running Wolf Flag. The casualties on both sides were almost equal.
Earl Rickard thrust his spear, killing an enemy.
Then he tugged on the reins, and following the pre-arranged markers, led most of his cavalry across the trap-laden area he had set up with his men.
"Father, when horses gallop, they need an extremely stable ground. A small stone, a shallow rabbit hole, can cause a warhorse to be injured and fall. It doesn't take much time for us to dig some traps, but for the enemy, it's a nightmare."
Recalling his son's strategy, which he had added during the pre-battle meeting, Rickard Karstark felt a touch of unfamiliarity.
He had never taught these things, nor did the family's books contain such knowledge.
Coupled with the ballistas positioned on the high slope, this ingenious strategy did not seem like an idea a Northerner would come up with.
However, it was very effective!
He wondered where Eddard had learned all this knowledge.
Earl Rickard tugged on the reins, just about to turn his horse's head to engage the enemy once more, when he saw the golden-red torrent of steel already fleeing along the eastern wasteland.
At this moment, the Northern retreat horn also sounded, and he could only reluctantly give up.